Checkmate
by Regas 27
Summary: They were nothing more than pawns on a life-sized chessboard, each sent to protect what was considered worthy; and sometimes, they learned, that what was truly worthy, didn't always wear a crown – now assigned to kill a man once his good friend, Gilbert finds himself questioning what war he should fight; the one at hand, or the one at heart.


**Checkmate**: They were nothing more than pawns on a life-sized chessboard, each sent to protect what's worthy; and sometimes, they learn, that what's truly worthy, doesn't wear a crown – now assigned to kill a man once his good friend, Gilbert finds himself questioning what war he should fight; the one at hand, or the one at heart.

A/N: Yay. My first full length Hetalia piece :] I apologize for it being so short, but it's really just setting up what's going to happen in later chapters.

I've also never written a story in first-person, so, I apologize for any mistakes.

Please Enjoy!

~xxx: Chapter 1: Sincerely, With War Regards :xxx~

_**Prussia:**_

With war comes responsibility. War brings life and death to the playing field, like pawns in a game of chess, and it's their job to protect the king. Even the queen is designated to protect the old guy with the crown. Pfft.

I never liked chess.

I don't like being a pawn in a war I can't win, either.

I have better things to do with my life, like be awesome, or sleep. Instead, I'm standing, dressed in full regalia bearing my badges from wars previous. My closest comrades stand at either side, dressed in their war attire as well, and we're silent.

Our leader just stares at us with cold, unfeeling eyes.

It's odd, the silence. We aren't solemn people, but this…this is different. We know were playing a game _we_ can't win, and that fact seems to settle over us like a shadowed weight invisible to the eye but tangible to the touch.

We await our orders, and when they're given we take them without question. That's the part a pawn plays.

That's all we are, really. Pawns.

We offer each other our brief goodbyes, and we set off alone, each with their own task. Shorter sendoffs are easier. You don't have to think about that you might not see that someone ever again, so that's how we do it. A quick, 'goodbye, good luck' never, 'I'll see you later' because we never really know.

I look down at the paper in my hand, my job clearly indicated in bold letters. The successful capture and assassination of one Austrian soldier, and his name, in finer print is written below.

"Roderich…" I murmur to myself. It's been literally years since I've seen him, our last encounter one not worth remembering.

Sad really, we'd become such good friends at one point and then when the new alliances were formed and the other bridges were burned, we were forced to say goodbye. Delicacy was never one of my strong suits; it's not something that runs in my family.

I fold the paper and place it in my pocket, all the while thinking to myself: has he changed much? Does he still dress unawesomely? A part of me hopes so, something not changed would be a high point in my life right now.

I set about, working out a strategy to catch Austria through my head. I know my soldier's outnumber his by thousands, but if bloodshed is unnecessary in this conflict, I intend to shed as little blood as possible. He was once a friend, after all.

I return to my quarters, maps and notepaper strewed about the small room haphazardly. I walk to my closet, and pull down a small box I keep on the top shelf. I blow the dust off of the top and it clouds in the air for a moment before settling somewhere else. Walking to my bed, where I sit down, I slide the cover off and look at the contents for many long moments before pulling the envelope of photographs free.

I find one of Frances, Antonio and I and smile, the memory coming back to me. Frances' thirtieth birthday party, man that was a wild night and one I only remember in bits and pieces. I move onto the next one, this one is of Roderich. He's sitting in front of his piano with his eyes closed as his fingers dance over the keys. I close my eyes and I can practically hear the soft song, Fur Elise, in the background. I always admired that talent of his, even if I never showed it.

I place the picture aside, a small folded napkin the next treasure to be pulled from the small box. I unfold it slowly, and smile when I see music notes drawn in pen on a roughly sketched staff. Roderich's doing, I'm pretty sure. Or maybe I was writing a song for him, I don't really remember this.

The latter would be nice, I think solemnly.

Tossing it aside I move onto the next thing, and also the last thing, which surprises me. It's a letter and I open it, the memory of when I received it making the weight that resides above my head seem just that much heavier.

It's an apology- from nearly five years ago, when Austria and I called off our acquaintance at the beginning of the war.

Signed at the bottom in his smooth, elegant font are the words:

_**Sincerely, with warm regards,**_

_** Roderich**_

He was man enough to apologize for the things that happened, while I was a coward and had tossed away his letter in this box of history. The return address on the back is faded, but still visible. It's a start, I suppose. His last place of residence would be a good place to look- it's capturing him that should pose the problem, if any.

I tuck the letter away in my pocket as well as I stand from the bed. I adjust my clothes and retrieve my sword and pistol, fastening them both on my person before leaving the room. My destination now known, I move out, giving the signal to ready a few of my most trusted men.

They'd follow me into the depths of hell and back if ordered too, and I'm thankful for them. Thankful that, for everything that was happening, they were a trusted constant.

We hop the train, and the ride is a short one. Only a few hours, but it's long enough to give me time to think.

I think of Roderich again. The pianist is still on my mind and for a split second I wonder that if we weren't at war, if we'd still be friends. Or maybe more. I shake idea from my head, thinking such things when my mission is to kill him will only make things harder than they are. Sighing, I stare out the window, watching at the German countryside passes by. At some point, I fall asleep, and my dream is of Austria.

We're in his house, and I'm sitting and listening as he plays a song for me, asking me what I think of his newest arrangement. I seem to like it and get to my feet, but instead of giving him a pat on the shoulder, I pull out my gun and pump lead into his chest from behind. I wake with a startled jump, the train just pulling into the station.

Sadly, I realize that my mission won't be as easy as I once thought it might. I stomach the feeling are now starting to roil again, ones I buried so long ago. I order my men to set posts and keep me informed while I go in search of an old friend.

I know this encounter, when it happens, won't be a pleasant one. I bring regards of war, and no apology for the way things ended.

All in a days work for a pawn, I suppose.

xxxxxxxxxxx


End file.
